Locked Out of the Mind Palace
by shnuffeluv
Summary: He thought it was just another case. Never had John been more wrong in his life. Sherlock has amnesia, and he must recover everything from his home address to his name. But with John's help, will Sherlock be able to recover everything? Or will he be missing some of his Sherlockiness and become...normal? (My first Sherlock fanfic! K-plus for my paranoia.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My first Sherlock fanfic! *many cheers and victory moves* I know this is probably going to be terrible in some form or another, but seeing as this is for my mere amusement and to get my muse to shut up, I'm not really going to look for correctness in my work (growing up in the US does leave me a little uninformed.) If you can get past any errors, please feel free to enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, if I did Moffat would be doing the same things he makes his characters do as punishment for so many feels.**

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**John (In a 3****rd****-person-y-kind-of-way (and yes, just feel free to assume that from now on)):**

He thought it was just another case. Another way to keep Sherlock from knocking Mrs. Hudson's wall down and wasting whatever bullets were still lying around the house somewhere. Never had John been more wrong in his life.

Lestrade wanted their help, Sherlock had said. The criminal in question was (obviously according to Sherlock) hiding somewhere close with easy access to his assets. But when the man dashed around a dark corner after they found him and Sherlock immediately gave chase, everything went wrong. John lost the both of them one too many times, and when he caught up, Sherlock was lying uselessly on the ground like a rag doll. Was there a pulse? Yes, and thankfully a strong one. Any broken bones? No, but there was a cut on the head from some blunt instrument. Slight concern, but he looked like he would live. Did he regain consciousness? Eventually, but Sherlock just wasn't quite the same.

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**Sherlock (1****st**** person (keep assuming Sherlock is 1****st**** person until told otherwise, please)):**

At first, the only thing I felt was a throbbing coming from…somewhere on my head. It hurt too much all over to pinpoint where exactly I was hurt. The second thing I noticed was a man yelling and shaking me. I must have groaned, alerting him I was regaining consciousness. I tried to make out what he was saying.

"-Lock! Sherlock, wake UP!"

I cracked my eye open a little. Sherlock? Who was Sherlock? Was he talking to me? And then with my third realization that I could not remember anything, my name, my house, my entire life, I promptly lost consciousness again.

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**John:**

John saw Sherlock stir and moan a little. A spark of relief set John's will aflame as he tried to rouse Sherlock awake and into a sitting position. But all this wound up doing was causing him to crack open one eye, and immediately close it and pass out again. In that split second, though, was an expression that shook John to the bone. In that split second, Sherlock seemed to be…confused. Not just about lying on the ground in the middle of London, though. This confusion seemed to spark from John calling Sherlock's name. But…why? John shuddered the reasons aside and immediately started to dial Lestrade.

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**A/N (Part 2): So posting of this will probably be sporadic or suddenly stop if I decide to drop it. Sorry for anyone who cares, but being a high school student is not exactly easy, and finding time to write this could pose a challenge. Hopefully I can get a second chapter up, but when Sherlock fully regains consciousness…how am I supposed to reintroduce him to everyone? Hmm…my muse is in for it. Follow, favorite, or review if you wish!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So…hospitals, awkward silences, and my muse not helping a lot and just yelling "Keep going!" Hopefully this will go better than it feels like it will…**

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**John:**

John felt everything go by so slowly, and yet at the same time fly by at a break neck pace. Lestrade drove up, took one look at Sherlock, and immediately called for an ambulance. From there they went to the hospital, ran some tests for any serious condition that wasn't noticed, and soon it was decided Sherlock could go home-under Lestrade's and John's close supervision, that is. Sherlock was out of it the whole time. To John it all seemed to happen like it was a dream. He walked into the flat, showed Lestrade where to place Sherlock, then promptly passed out in his chair, wondering what Sherlock had gotten himself into this time, and if there was still the need to be helped out of it.

Had John known just how much help Sherlock was going to need, he may have just given up then and there.

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**Sherlock:**

I was somewhere different from where I last was when I woke up. I could tell. Beneath me was something much softer. A bed, maybe? The throbbing in my head was somewhat dulled, and it was quiet, so I risked taking a look around where I was. I was on a couch, I soon found out, because when I went to shift into a more comfortable position, I promptly fell face first onto a red carpet. I let out a groan. I heard someone running down a flight of stairs.

"Sherlock? You okay, mate? You really shouldn't be moving around yet."

I groaned in response. I assumed he was talking to me, since I was the only other person in the room. But I still was confused. Was Sherlock me? Was that a first name, last name, nickname? And where was I? What was going on? There were so many questions my head hurt. The man who came down to check on me yelled, "John! He's finally up," which caused a great crash upstairs, and some more running sounds. The man helped me up to the couch into a sitting position, and I could finally get a good look at him. _Gray-haired, brown-eyed, mid-40's to early 50's, posture like that means he must have a job that keeps him moving…facial expression suggests familiarity, so he must know me from somewhere before-_

"Sherlock! You're finally awake! How's your head feeling?" I looked up. There was another man moving over to a chair by the fireplace. _Ash-blonde hair, brown eyes, posture straight but not tense, history of being in the military, then-_"Sherlock?" The man was looking at me with concern on his face. "Are all right?" He came over a little too close for comfort. I flinched. Wrong reaction. "Sherlock, what's wrong? It's John, remember?"

"No…" I said the word so quiet I could barely hear it. The men seemed to go pale. "Sorry, what?" It was the other man again. I looked him dead in the eye, and with as much force as I could gather in this increasingly uncomfortable position I found myself in I said, "No, I don't remember." The room just fell silent after that. I counted how long it took for someone to reply: one full minute. That was when the man named John jumped up and started yelling. "What?! What do you mean, 'I don't remember!' You remember everything! Now stop playing around Sherlock, I've been really worried! This is not the time for jokes!"

I was silent for a while, but the look on my face must have spoken volumes because the other man said, "John, I don't think he's joking." All three of us just waited then for something to happen. That something wound up being a punch the face. My face, specifically. I wasn't punched very hard, but it was enough for me to slip into unconsciousness again, as I saw John's face a mix of fury and terror as he looked at me and the world faded to black.

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**John:**

All that was going through John's head as he was going down the stairs: _Sherlock's okay, Sherlock's okay._ When he started to talk to him he kept thinking: _Something's off about him._ When the penny dropped about the amnesia he thought: _Stop pretending, this isn't funny._ But now as Lestrade moved him away from Sherlock slumped on the couch all he could think was: _This is happening. This is real. And Sherlock could be gone for good._

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**Sorry about the cliff hanger guys…wait…I guess I'm not. MUAHAHAHAHAHA! Sooner or later I'm thinking about bringing Mycroft in to see what he can find out about Sherlock, and hopefully give reason to the title. I have to say writing Sherlock with amnesia is fun, because his personality can really go about any which way. This should wind up being pretty interesting.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, I think John's POV will be first person now. Trying to switch between 1****st**** and 3****rd**** person is a huge pain in the neck. I'm going to give it a shot. Let me know if you like it!**

**Sherlock:**

When I woke up, John wasn't in the room anymore. The other man was by the door, talking to someone on a phone. When he looked over and saw me sitting up he wrapped up his phone call and walked over to me. He sighed. "Okay. I know you probably have a lot of questions. Out with it."

"Who are you? Where am I? What am I doing here? Who is John? Why-"

"Slow down, slow down! We don't want you to hurt your head more, and it looks like you're about to pass out you're talking so fast. So first, I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, one of your…well, friends may not be the right word. I work with you sometimes. You're at 221B Baker Street, in London, and you're here because this is you're flat. Well, yours and John's. You two seem really close. He might be your one true friend that is actually alive." He smiled at the look of confusion on my face. "You've been known to have one-way conversations with a human skull." This time he laughed at my face. "You're one of a kind mate, I can tell that much."

"Where is John now?"

"Out somewhere around London, thinking. To have your best friend be knocked out and not be able to remember anything about himself or his life has to be tough."

I snort. "Not as tough as being the one trying to remember."

"…You need anything just let me know, all right? I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"I'm fine." I can't let him know how much I'm shaken by this new information. I need to give it some time to make sense. I need him to stop trying to figure things out for me. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Thinking." This was met with a slight smile and a chuckle. "Good to see you haven't changed that much, Sherlock. I'll be upstairs."

**John (first person now, don't forget!):**

I left the flat partly because I might lose my temper again, partly because I needed to think. I couldn't believe it. Sherlock lost his memory? Of all people, _Sherlock_ lost his memory. He remembers everything he wants to-wait. _He remembers everything he wants to._ _He REMEMBERS_ _EVERYTHING he wants to!_ Did he want to forget everyone? No. I couldn't believe that. But he needs help…Sherlock undoubtedly needs help. I took a shaky breath. _He needs people who know him now, and no matter how stupid he is for running off, you're one of the few people who can help him._ I turned around and ran back towards the flat. I slowed down when I got to the door, however. Based off of Sherlock's earlier reaction, dashing into the flat could end badly. I walked into the flat, knocking to alert anyone nearby that I was back.

"Sherlock, its John. Are you okay? I'm sorry about earlier. Are you okay? Sherlock?"

"Nnnn." The noise was coming from the couch.

"Sherlock, please talk to me. I'm sorry about earlier. Could we talk? I might be able to help with your memory. I want to help."

Sherlock turned around. His eyes shot daggers, and I froze in my tracks. "If you really wanted to help, then why did you punch me? Why did you yell at me when I was _telling the TRUTH?!_ My mind is a complete blank! I can't remember my address, let alone my name, and you _knocked me out for something I didn't do!_ It wasn't like I wanted this to happen! And you won't help me when I may need it more than I ever have or will!"

His words hit me like a slap. Sherlock stood up and stalked off into his room. I just stood there, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. Sherlock had shown emotion, admitted needing help, and told me off. And I wasn't sure which was the most surprising. I turned at the sound of Lestrade on the stairs. All he said was, "I don't think you're ever going to live that one down." And I didn't think of one reason I should disagree.

**Mycroft will probably be in the next chapter, so be ready, everyone!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: 49478-Thank you, my first reviewer! Mycroft is definitely going to be in this one, and your...I guess I should call it **_**solution **_**(spoilers otherwise!) is a good idea! I think I'll keep it in mind…Also, thanks to followers/favoriters (you know who you are, and I don't want to point the spotlight at you (you know, MORE than if you review…:-) )) So, I suppose w/o further ado…**

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**Sherlock:**

I wasn't sure why I chose this room to go to after John came back; I just didn't want to talk to anyone. It did have a bed, though, so at least I had something to fling myself onto in a huff. As I was lying there, I thought about a few things. Or, more accurately, questioned about them: _If John wants to help, why did he react like that? What happened before I woke up to scare him so much? Why am I being so sentimental?_ That last one caught me by surprise. I didn't know where it came from. _Of course I'm being sentimental, he is supposed to be my friend and he PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE! So? Sentimentality is not something I do. Well, maybe it should._ During this fight in my head, I realized that someone had walked into the room. I didn't bother to look up. But what he said caught me off guard.

"Now really, baby brother. You aren't even going to acknowledge my presence anymore?"

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**Mycroft:**

When Sherlock had woken up, I was preoccupied in a meeting, and _Anthea_ did not see it _fit_ to disturb me. Of course as soon as she told me, I prepared to leave, but by then the damage had been done. Sherlock had apparently taken a punch in the face by John soon after he woke up, and by the time I had gotten there, Sherlock had retreated to his room while John was trying to find a way to make amends. I merely walked in, and John pointed to the door with a quick, "He isn't about to let anyone talk to him."

I stepped in to find him lying face down on his bed, in what looked to me like an argument with himself. He soon stopped, apparently noticing my presence. When it became clear he was not about to say anything, I took the first word. "Now really, baby brother. You aren't even going to acknowledge my presence anymore?" That got a response, but one of unexpected confusion, rather than the normal grunt or continued ignoring of my being in the room. He muttered something that sounded like, "So I have a brother," then went back to brooding. After a quick look out of the room and to the grim faces looking in, I realized something was wrong. A quick talk led to the information that Sherlock had an apparent case of amnesia, and could remember nothing of his past. I walked back in, barely keeping my composure. Sherlock was sitting up, though he was facing the wall opposite the door, and did not seem to know I was there until I moved closer near the bed. I was met with a quick, "What do you want?" Which I took as an opportunity to speak.

"Sherlock, how much do you actually remember?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing of your past? Or just nothing in general?"

"General." Of course, thinking on it and knowing him, anything he remembered would be something important, and not just "useless" facts.

"Nothing at all? What's 2+2?"

"Four. Are we done now?"

"No." So he did remember things in general, just not the things he would consider "in general." Which gave me an idea. "Sherlock, do you remember your Mind Palace?" The look of confusion on his face said it all. "That was where you always placed pieces of information that you wanted to remember. Could you try to go to it?" Maybe all he needed was to remember to go there when he needed something to remember! Maybe he could actually be fine by-

"I can't."

"What?!"

"I can't. I can get to it, but I can't get into it!"

"Sherlock, are you sure? Try a little harder."

"I can't! I try as hard as possible and I can't!"

This was not going to end well, I could see his face darkening. "Sherlock-"

"GET OUT! NOW!"

"Listen, I just-"

"I DON'T CARE! GET OUT!"

"I-"

"GET OUT, OR I'LL-"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES STOP THIS INSTANT! YOU ARE BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD!" I didn't stand around to see what happened after Sherlock registered I had spoken his full name. I merely walked out of the room, closed the door, and announced to the two men looking truly shaken, "I believe I know what happened to Sherlock."

Relief flashed across their faces. I wish I did not have to tell them what had happened. "He has been locked out of his Mind Palace. However, I do not know if he will or even can ever get back in."

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**Duh duh duuuuuuuuh! This was interesting to write. Something tells me amnesic Sherlock does not like Mycroft any more than regular Sherlock. I wonder what. :-D Chapter 5 will hopefully involve less Sherlock being angry and possibly a little violin? I dunno. Keep enjoying it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: 49478- Thank you for your continual support! Ch. 5 is right here! Darkheart13666- Will do! I love this too much to stop at the moment. I'm not even letting extrakurahculars (say it like that, it's fun) and homework stand in the way of my muse! Here all y'all who make me happy with your enjoyment of my story: CHAPTER 5!**

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**John:**

I just stood there for a moment. "What. Do. You. Mean." I was shaking. Sherlock…not being able to remember anything? Forever? I wanted to punch Mycroft in the face. As a matter of fact, I did. And as Sherlock chose that exact moment to open the door, Mycroft fell into the room at Sherlock's feet. He stood there looking down for a moment, then looked up and gave a slight smile. "Nice punch."

I looked at him and just replied, "Thank you." Then, as an afterthought, "You feeling better, mate?"

"…Yeah."

"…Good."

Sherlock stood there for a full second then moved on, trying to get a good look around the flat. I went into the kitchen to make tea. Just as the water was starting to boil, I heard the violin. And it was one of the pieces Sherlock had composed himself. I whirled around. Sherlock realized I was staring, then seemed to realize what he was doing, like he had just had an idiosyncrasy pointed out to him. Which, I suppose he did. "…How…?" Was all he said. The kettle whistled and I made 4 cups of tea. Mycroft was up and about again soon enough, took the tea politely and then excused himself with a, "Let me know if he remembers anything."

As soon as he left Sherlock declared, "I don't like him."

"Sherlock!"

"What? It's true."

"He has surveillance everywhere monitoring you. Even if he's out of the flat he can still know what you said."

Sherlock pouted. "I still don't like him, John. Surveillance hardly changes that fact. Besides, what can he do to me anyway?"

I decided not to delve into the subject of Mycroft's job at the moment. It seemed hardly the time to give Sherlock information that he could abuse. Lestrade stood up. "John, since Sherlock seems relatively sound aside from his amnesia, I think I'll go home and leave the doctoring to the doctor. Call me in the morning."

"But it's only," I stopped and looked at the clock, "Wait, it's 17:00?!" I sighed. The day went faster than it should have. "Okay. Call you tomorrow."

"Good night John. Sherlock."

"Good night Greg." This one remark from Sherlock left the DI in surprise, mumbling to himself about Sherlock learning his name after all these years as he walked down the 17 steps that took him out of 221 Baker Street.

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**Sherlock:**

Eventually I decided to leave the room I was in to see if my "brother" had left yet. He hadn't, but he did get a good right hook from John. And I know first how much that hurts. "Nice punch." I was savoring the look of shock on his face when I realized John had asked if I was feeling better. "Yeah." Was all I said to him. "…Good." Everyone moved to their own business (except for the man still in shock on the floor, not that I minded that.) I went to one of the windows to get a good look at my surroundings when I noticed a violin and some sheet music. Without even thinking, I began to play one of the pieces. John whirled around in surprise, and I just realized what I was doing. "How…?" I couldn't even finish that question. I could tell John was just as confused as I was. We had tea soon after this revelation and then my brother (I realize now I never caught his name,) left. I wanted to set the record straight immediately. "I don't like him."

"Sherlock!"

"What? It's true."

"He has surveillance everywhere monitoring you. Even if he's out of the flat he can still know what you said."

"I still don't like him, John. Surveillance hardly changes that fact. Besides, what can he do to me anyway?" John looked like he wanted to say something, and then thought better of it. _What can he do to me, then?_ I was mulling over this while Greg said good night to us. "Good night Greg." This one phrase seemed to put him in a state of pleasant surprise as he left. What did I do? I just said good night. John cleared his throat. I looked up. "Okay, Sherlock. If you don't remember anything, then how did you know my name? How did you know Greg's name? When we went to Baskerville you seemed surprised by his first name, and now you're calling him by it? What's going on?"

I looked at John with some confusion evident on my face. I made sure he would see it. "You two called each other by name. I felt that I should remember them for the moment. Why are you looking at me like that?"

John had turned slightly paler. "Sherlock…you're acting…not like you. You're acting…normal."

"And is that a bad thing? ...Well? Is it?" I was starting to feel a little concerned. What was I supposed to be like to get John so rattled that I thought I should remember people's names? _You're a highly active sociopath, you idiot! You're not supposed to be like everyone else!_ I jumped to my feet, which startled John even more, if that was possible. "Where did that voice come from?!"

"What? Sherlock?"

"That voice! Where did that voice come from! I heard this-!" Suddenly the world tilted on its side. I was seeing everything like I would if I needed glasses-fuzzily. Then, suddenly, everything changed and I was outside some building. "So. You're supposed to be the genius? Keep this up and you're head will be too filled with useless information to think straight." I whirled around. There was a man standing there wearing nothing but a bed sheet. He smiled when he saw I was uncomfortable, then changed his outfit somehow immediately to a white button-up shirt and black pants underneath a black suit coat, trench coat, and a blue scarf.

"Who are you?"

The man smirked. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, all memories attached. And you've tried to get into my mind palace, I understand. You won't get in, though. It knows you're not exactly who comes in it all the time. Oh, don't stare like that. I have a reputation to uphold which you are doing nothing to help with your staring like that. Now, if you want to remember everything, I have to warn you: some things you might wish remain forgotten. I'll speak to you later. If you don't wake up soon John is going to call an ambulance. And we don't want that."

Everything started to fade vaguely into blackness. "Wait. If you're Sherlock Holmes…"

The man sighed. "Oh, you are thick already, aren't you? Yes, that means I'm you. Now shut up and wake up so John doesn't panic any more than necessary." And then I was laying on the floor in the flat again, John looking down on me with concern. "Sherlock?"

I looked up at him. "Yes in fact, I just met him."

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**Oh, can you imagine the look on John's face? Ha! So, next time will be interesting (and this probably isn't going to be more than 10-15 chapters in the end. But it's still fun.) Can't wait for Mycroft to get punched again.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So, yay! 6****th**** chapter! Finally bothered to start it up, I've been preoccupied. But, hey, I did warn you guys. 49478- Always a pleasure to hear from you! All of my followers/favoriters: Even if I haven't heard from you, I love your support by keeping tabs on my fic (Sherlock would definitely call this too much sentiment but he does have amnesia (which I will fix sooner or later)but for the moment he can't judge (plus I'm controlling what he says)) But look at me rambling on when you want to read the next chapter! Sorry, here.**

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**John:**

Okay, Sherlock knowing Greg's name was weird. But when he started whirling around, claiming a voice was talking to him, everything started to look _a bit not good_. Then he just collapsed onto the floor. I called out for Greg to come back up. He rushed back up, he was probably just saying good-bye to Mrs. Hudson. He saw Sherlock passed out on the floor, and immediately went to find a first aid kit. I was too busy trying to get Sherlock to come around to help him. For what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, he lay on the floor like that. Passed out didn't quite fit the description, though, because his eyes were, believe it or not, open. Then he blinked, and started to put everything back into focus. The relief must have been all too clear on my face. "Sherlock?" He just looked at me slightly askance and said, "Yes in fact, I just met him."

I just looked at him funnily. That was all I could do. There wasn't any real reply about having your best friend say he doesn't remember anything then meets said friend while he is sprawled out on the floor like he could have just died. Someone had some serious explaining to do. "John, I can't find your-oh good Sherlock, you're up. I was really worried about you mate."

I said to him, "Greg, Sherlock is saying he isn't Sherlock."

"Oh, don't be stupid, John. I was just saying that I met Sherlock, not that I wasn't him. I met him when he had all his memories. But I never said I wasn't him." Well, if there ever was anything to make me even more confused than I was already at that point, that was it. I took one look at Sherlock, and immediately started dragging him towards his room and the bed inside it. "Hey! What are you doing?! No! STOP!" He tried to find a grip on anything, but I wasn't about to let him. I yanked as hard as I could when he grabbed the door frame, then dropped him unceremoniously in bed. "You are not getting out of this bed until morning. I'll bring you some food if you'll be willing to eat it in one hour. And when tomorrow comes, I will be expecting an explanation." I felt like I was scolding a child, but if Sherlock was going to act like this, then he was going to be treated like one.

"John."

"What?!"

He just gave me one of his, _you can't possibly understand what I'm doing now but that's no excuse for what you're doing_ looks. "I'm hungry now."

I just stared at him. "One hour, Sherlock. One hour. And you can forget about pouting me into giving some food to you now!" This last comment took him by surprise, and I made sure to savor it. Then I shut the door, and gave a huge sigh. "You're going to go and get take-out right now, aren't you?"

I just looked at Greg and gave him a defeated look. "He said he was hungry. How am I supposed to say no when he admits he's hungry?"

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**Sherlock:**

After I came to and explained what had happened to me, John seemed less relieved than angry. And while I could understand this that is no excuse for dragging me to a bed. "Hey! What are you doing! No! STOP!" John was having none of it. I tried to get a good handhold, and almost got the door frame to work for me, but John yanked my fingers loose, picked me up, and dropped me into my bed._ Definitely military background._

"You are not getting out of this bed until morning. I'll bring you some food if you'll be willing to eat it in one hour. And when tomorrow comes, I will be expecting an explanation."

I couldn't believe he was doing this. Actually, I could, having no normal reactions of his to compare with his reactions now, but that wasn't the point. "John."

"What?!"

I gave him a look. I'm not sure why, I just felt the need to. "I'm hungry now."

"One hour, Sherlock. One hour. And you can forget about pouting me into giving some food to you now!" I looked at him a little surprised. I must pout a lot when I have all of my memories for him to expect it like that. He shut the door, leaving me an hour to think. Unfortunately, that left me with myself as company, and I was too busy insulting me to allow me to think about much of anything. Fortunately, the hour ended (though it did take forever) and John brought take out into my room. "I have to eat it in here?"

"Why? Is that a bad thing?"

"…I-it will make a mess."

John sighed. "Just eat."

I did. I was extremely hungry, like I hadn't eaten in a few days. But when I finished, I felt like I was falling. And all I could think of wasn't that I was drugged, or that John had apparently drugged me (and what sort of friend was that?) but was _here we go again._ As I was fading my brother walked in and said, "Well, it seems that the formula is already working." And then I was back in front of the mind palace.

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**Whew! That's done! Mycroft's gonna get serious punches for using some sort of formula on Sherlock (but what will it eventually do? Hint hint wink wink smile smile to the person with that idea!) So…yeah. It's probably going to be done soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: You guys always make me happy in your reviewing! 49478-I enjoy puns, please feel free to do more if you want, and it only feels right to thank you for your continued reading! ToscaThorCat- When have I been known to pass up a chance to punch Mycroft? Ever?**

**Here you go, everyone! This next part will be more than recaps from different points of view. There's going to be different stuff going on to different people! PLOT TWIST! *moving on***

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**Sherlock:**

"You're not supposed to be here." I didn't turn around. I knew it was me. He and I were the only ones here, it seemed. "Well, _your brother _was a little busy drugging me to be bothering with your schedule."

"He's your brother too, you know."

"You mean _I should know._ You've been considerate enough to prevent me from entering where my memories are stored, so how can I know?"

"…You retained John's and Lestrade's names fairly quickly. Surely you can remember what Mycroft says."

I turned around. "Can and will are two very different things."

He smiled. "So they are."

I turned my head to look at the door to the Mind Palace. "Are you going to let me in there, or am I going to have to attempt breaking and entering?"

"I suppose a bit of both. I'll show you a way in to one of the rooms."

I shifted. "Which memories will be in there?"

He turned around and looked at me like he was surprised I could figure out different rooms might hold different memories. I explained to him that it appeared only logical for different designated rooms to have different memories in them respective to which group they fell under. "Not unlike a library."

"You're surprisingly smart for letting useless information stay in your head."

"Thank you."

"…Not necessarily a compliment."

"I choose to take it as one." This seemed to be an acceptable answer, because he just smiled and showed me a window that had cracks spreading all over it. "This is your starting point. The window breaking won't let the memories out, don't worry. It will only let you in."

"So, what's in there?"

He smiled. "History of our brother. Good luck." He disappeared in an instant. I looked at the window. I saw where all the cracks were spiraling out from, and I pressed on the epicenter. The window broke and I crawled in. So much information was stored in here. From blackmail to requests for help to the few times in my life he actually openly showed any semblance of love to me. There was so much to take in, so I just sat down on the floor and started at the beginning. Apparently when I was 3...

* * *

**John:**

I gave Sherlock the food and he wolfed it down. When he finished I was just about to cash in on that explanation he owed me when Sherlock started to sway a bit then he collapsed onto the bed. Mycroft walked into the room and simply said, "Well, it seems that the formula is already working," as Sherlock drifted off to some kind of drugged sleep.

I should have known Mycroft would do something like this. That "sauce" he gave me that Sherlock supposedly liked when he was little was nothing more than a drug he had made. I can say I didn't punch him (at first) but I can't deny that he took a hard hit from a dictionary. And THEN I punched him afterward, at which point Greg had me physically restrained until I calmed down. During which time it was explained that Mycroft had given Sherlock a sedative to allow him easy access to wherever his Mind Palace was in that head of his and hopefully restore his memory. At the end of which Greg punched him in the face, and Mycroft punched him right back. Pretty soon it was an all-out brawl, after I got out of the restraints. After a bit, Sherlock walked out of his room calmly pulling Mycroft out of the fray, and hitting him so hard there was a resounding _crack_ and a spray of blood. "Brother dear, next time you want to get something done, I'd much prefer blackmail."

I just stood there looking at the two Holmeses, stunned. "Sherlock, you remember Mycroft now? Anything else I would like to know that you seem to have in that head of yours? Are unicorns real? Did the tooth fairy really come when I was six, and my parents were just lying to me when they said it was them because they had no idea what was happening?"

"No I just broke into a section of my Mind Palace that happened to be associated with Mycroft. Unfortunate that's what I had to remember first."

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"You seem a little dizzy still-WOAH!" Sherlock just collapsed on top of me. He must have the formula still in his system. I lifted him over to his leather chair so he could work on breaking into his Mind Palace in peace, whatever that meant. Then I turned back to the other men in the room. We organized who was going to sleep where in the flat, because no one was willing to go home after Sherlock's revelation. I took the couch, Greg took my room, and Mycroft took Sherlock's, and soon we were all asleep. Except for Sherlock, who was busy by his Mind Palace, trying to put his memories back in order.

* * *

**Ha ha! Mycroft got punched so many times. This is so much fun! Keep letting me know what you think please!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey, guys! Finally back to writing this fic! I've tried to start a new one with parentlock, since someone told me there aren't many good ones out there. Whether that's the case or not, I wanted to try it…so now I'm just typing this because I got sick and my mom let me stay home from school. (That's going to be a huge pain going back next week. Workloads.) ToscaThorCat-I know, I did get a little carried away. Mycroft just annoys me to no end, and it feels therapeutic to punch him in this. the fangirl 2013-Good to know you enjoy punching Mycroft as much as I do, but I'm going to try to dial it down some, so don't get your hopes up.**

**So I've been talking way too much. Here, for putting up with me, CHAPTER VIII!**

**John:**

It was around midnight when it started. At first, Sherlock just squirmed in discomfort, and then he was muttering things under his breath. Since he was just sifting through his memories, I didn't think of it as a big deal, he might just be reliving a few. But then he started yelling. And screaming. I had no idea his voice could go that high. Mycroft and Greg tried to help, but Sherlock was still barely even semi-conscious, kicking and fighting back and struggling to get free. I walked over to him, and in the calmest voice I could manage, started talking to him. "Sherlock? It's John. You need to calm down. You're safe there's no danger. Just calm down…"

He stared at me for a long time. He just sat there, eyes wide open, staring at me or through me. Then he tackled me in a full-on bear hug. We fell onto the floor and I said, "Sherlock, get off me."

"Why?"

"You and I lying on the floor hugging each other? People might talk."

"People do little else, John."

"Right. How much do you remember now?"

"Meeting you to that night at the pool."

"Right. So…"

"Some background information besides that, but most of it is a blank."

"Well, at least I know what the screaming was about. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"GET OFF OF ME!"

He did, for once. "I'm going to go back to my Mind Palace, I think."

"No, Sherlock, you are going to get some sleep. If that screaming was any indication you really shouldn't go back there for a couple of days."

"Joooooohn!"

"No, Sherlock, you are getting sleep, end of story!" All I got for an answer was a snore. I knew he was tired.

"So, John, you and Sherlock. How long has that been going on?" Greg joked.

"Shut up."

**Sherlock:**

The Mind Palace is huge. Since I got in I haven't met myself again, I must be free to look at what I please now. I wandered around for a little while, just looking at the different rooms. I finally reached a door that for some reason or another pulled me to it. It was a plain wooden door, nothing special about it except for the label in scrawled handwriting: _John_. It was him, I knew it was him. I went to open the door. "I wouldn't just yet if I were you."

"You are me. And you aren't going to. I am."

"You really shouldn't just yet."

"And why not?"

"Some things you may wish were left forgotten."

"John is your best friend. You'd really rather keep him forgotten?"

"Some of the memories that happen with him, yes."

"Why?"

"…You really don't want to know."

"If I didn't, then why would I do this?" I flung the door open wide and slammed it closed behind me before he could even scream no. As soon as I was inside, though, I was assaulted with images. First a careless glance up to the man who would become my only best friend. Then, images of experiments, chases, murders, all with him there by me while I saw things that no one else apparently could. Then I saw the pool. I felt some pride at seemingly figuring out some puzzle. Then John walked in. I couldn't believe it. Was all that happened to us together a lie? Why did he do this to me? I started to try and talk to him. He opened his coat. He had a bomb strapped to his chest. I tried to do something, anything. But it was like being a character in a movie. I couldn't do anything about it. I started yelling and screaming in real life, probably waking the others. I didn't care. John was going to die. I just started to get to know him and he was going to die. We just saw Moriarty leave, but John was still in trouble. I could feel it. Mycroft and Lestrade came out of nowhere and started restraining me from moving. But I had to get to John. I tried everything, but I was getting nowhere closer to him. John! John where are you? Where are—

"Sherlock? It's John. You need to calm down. You're safe there's no danger. Just calm down…"

I stilled. I could have sworn my heart stopped. It wasn't real. It was just a memory. It wasn't real! I tackled John in a hug, to prove it to myself. I had already made a fool of myself, might as well go the whole nine yards. "Sherlock, get off me."

"Why?"

"You and I lying on the floor hugging each other? People might talk."

"People do little else, John."

"Right. How much do you remember now?"

"Meeting you to that night at the pool."

"Right. So…"

"Some background information besides that, but most of it is a blank."

"Well, at least I know what the screaming was about. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"GET OFF OF ME!"

I grudgingly did. "I'm going to go back to my Mind Palace, I think." There was still information in John's room. Things that I needed to see. It was too important to not remember.

"No, Sherlock, you are going to get some sleep. If that screaming was any indication you really shouldn't go back there for a couple of days."

"Joooooohhhhhnnnnnn!"

"No, Sherlock, you are getting sleep, end of story!" I wanted to argue some more. I was fine! I could keep going all night! I didn't need sle-

"…Okay, maybe I did need sleep. But that didn't mean I have to get it now!"

"I just needed you away from the Mind Palace. You seemed really disturbed. Don't worry, I'll give you some memories to work through instead of dreams. Why don't you watch Lestrade for a bit?" I swear, I could be so annoying sometimes.

I did watch, but only because I had nothing else to do. But by the time I woke up in the morning, I was ready for anything Lestrade might throw at me. Except for one case which Sherlock refused to show…the most recent one I was on. Why he didn't show me, I'll get out of him later. Right now, I need that case. And I know exactly where to get it straight out of the horse's mouth. But when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in Baker Street. I was in some office lying on a couch. "Sorry, brother, but you were getting too close to remembering something that should be thoroughly forgotten. You won't be able to go back to Baker Street."

Another man's voice started talking, from somewhere behind me. "You should have just died after my client hit you like a good boy. Now I'm going to have to get rid of you before your memories return. Nighty-night!" And then I was taken to unconsciousness courtesy of a larger dictionary than even I have at Baker Street.

**This chapter…not exactly my best work. Eh, what're you gonna do? Anyway, just for the record, even I didn't see Mycroft kidnapping Sherlock until a bit before I wrote it. I needed something to happen, and the pun courtesy of 49478 gave me an escape route. See? You never know what might help me if you review! Oh, and feel free to tell me if you would actually read my parentlock. I'd like to know what you think. Oh...and who was that man at the end?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So…here we are. Chapter IX. Don't worry, this isn't very significant, but I just wanted to introduce this that way. 49478-Sorry, no Moran. But someone even better is coming into play! Heeheehee! Just wait. Sherlock's a little OOC, I know. But blame it on the head injuries.**

* * *

**Mycroft:**

It was 2 when I received the text:

_It's showtime! –JM_

_Are you sure we have to do this? –MH_

_Do you want your baby brother single-handedly exposing the biggest scandal in history? –JM_

_Of course not. –MH_

_I'm right outside. –JM_

I let out a barely audible sigh and got ready to lift Sherlock. John unfortunately enough, had his arm protectively flung over Sherlock in his sleep. I then had to move his arm away without waking him up, which is no easy task. But I managed, and I was soon downstairs and out the door into a nondescript black car. "Don't worry, I'll go slow for you and your brother." Moriarty said as he flashed a grin that rather resembled the Cheshire cat's.

"That will be the day," I muttered to myself as he steered away from the curb.

We actually made it to my office in one piece and abiding by (most) of the traffic laws. I laid Sherlock on a couch by my office, and then I had a little talk with Moriarty. "This is ridiculous. Why are we in my office at 2am with Sherlock passed out on a couch right next to us? How did we even get into this situation?!"

"It's not my fault my man started getting careless on your assignments. And it's hardly my fault your assignments started getting more difficult."

"Listen, if you're trying to pin this on _me…_!"

"Careful, remember who you're talking to, Mr. Holmes. We don't want this scandal reaching the media, that's why your brother needs to…disappear." The Cheshire grin returned. "Speaking of which, I think he's waking up." He was right. Sherlock was starting to stir. I walked out, and he cracked his eyes open. "Sorry, brother, but you were getting too close to remembering something that should be thoroughly forgotten. You won't be able to go back to Baker Street." Then Moriarty took a dictionary and decided to put in his own two cents. "You should have just died after my man hit you like a good boy. Now I'm going to have to get rid of you before your memories return. Nighty-night!" And promptly smacked him with the dictionary, knocking him out again. He then took Sherlock and carried him over to an empty room in the holding area he had been in before. "Don't worry, it's sound proof." I assured.

His eyes flashed with anger for a split second. "Oh, believe me. I know. _I know._" Then the anger was gone, and he smiled as he and Sherlock went into the interrogation room, and I stayed behind the one way mirror to watch.

* * *

**Sherlock:**

My head hurt. Again. With so much force it was just as much if not more painful than when I first woke up. I risked opening one eye. I was sitting in a metal chair with some man sitting across from me. It took a half a minute to place the face, and when I did I promptly fell out of the chair I was sitting in. The man laughed darkly. I backed myself into a corner, fear written all over my face. A bit not good, as John would say, but I couldn't help it. Moriarty terrified me. "Wh-what are you doing here? Wh-wh-where am I?" My voice wasn't working, and sadly, neither was my brain. He just laughed. "Hello, sexy. You miss me? I was under the impression you _did_ remember me…and the look on your face gives me the sneaking suspicion that you do remember me. Or at least, _somewhat."_ He smiled wide, a smile that made my skin crawl. _If there ever was a time to be suddenly yanked into the Mind Palace, it would be now,_ I thought.

But that wasn't happening. I just kept pressing myself into the wall, trying to get away from _him_. He stepped closer, and I tried harder and harder to melt into the wall. He started to stroke my jaw, and I flinched. He seemed to find this hilarious. "Oh, Sherlock, that head of yours. So beautiful, so elegant, so _empty_."

"What do you want with me?" My voice was still much higher than I would like it to be.

"With you? No, no nononono. I don't want you. I want the Sherlock with his memories. Much easier to make sure they won't come back when they're there already."

I hesitated. That last sentence needed some time to be thought through. It seemed somewhat like an oxymoron. Moriarty kicked me hard in the shins, and I crumpled to the floor. "Hm, but your stupidity could be just what I need. Ensuring it won't come back and even if it does, it won't do you any use." I just lied on the floor, my eyes closed tight. Those blows to my head destroyed any chance I had of coherent thought, so I didn't even try. I just stayed on the floor, eyes tightly closed, until Moriarty left. Then I opened my eyes, turned into the corner, and rocked slowly and cried softly until I fell asleep.

* * *

**I'm evil, I know. But I just wanted to write this so badly, and I really wanted Moriarty to join in the fun. Oooh, this is getting good. An unsolved case, an escaped criminal, amnesia, brawls, and now Moriarty. Oh, it's Christmas! =D I had to there. Sorry. Chapter 10 should be up sometime soon, hopefully.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sherlock's going to continue being OOC, but don't worry, it's on purpose now. It's all part of the plot…that evolved far beyond original plans. Let's hope it doesn't back me into a corner! So here we are, people of internet land…CHAPTER X!**

* * *

**John:**

I woke to the sound of the doorbell. I opened my eyes and sat up. I had fallen asleep on the floor. My legs were not going to be happy with me. My eyes flitted to the ground next to me. Sherlock wasn't there. I was a little worried, but it wasn't noticeable until I opened the door and saw Mycroft grimacing in the door frame. "He left in the middle of the night, didn't he." It wasn't a question.

"I'm afraid so."

"No signs of him."

"None."

"John, have you seen Sherlock…He's gone again?"

We all just stood there a moment. Then I yanked my coat on and dashed out. I was halfway down the street before the others were even out the door. I wasn't going anywhere in particular. Just out and around, like Sherlock presumably did, if he wasn't forced. That last thought stopped me in my tracks. Because that implied that he could have been taken without wanting to. Implying that…

"John! Slow down, mate! What's wrong?"

"I think someone kidnapped Sherlock." All of a sudden it was freezing to me. "We need to see who had a grudge against Sherlock, and who could have possibly known about his amnesia and taken advantage of it." If at all possible, Mycroft turned paler than I probably was. "I will get started obtaining necessary access or materials right away."

Lestrade nodded and said, "I'll see if there's anyone on the force Sherlock didn't annoy to the point where they'd be glad he'd be gone. You go back to Baker Street in case he returns."

I shook my head. "He won't be coming back alone. If he was taken, he won't be able to get away for a while, and if he wasn't, then he won't remember the address anyway. I'll go tell Mrs. Hudson to be on the lookout, and then join you at the Yard."

Lestrade nodded again. "Sounds like a plan."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, then simply said, "I wish you both luck. Let me know when there's a suspect you want me to find for you."

And on that cheery note, we went our separate ways.

* * *

**Sherlock:**

When I woke up, Moriarty was back in the room. He smiled at me, and when I saw myself in the mirror, my eyes were red and raw. "Have a good nap did we?"

I didn't respond. I didn't want my voice to give me away again. I just stared at him, the one-way glass, the ceiling, anything that gave me an excuse not to respond. He sighed in disappointment and sat down next to me. I looked at the ground between my legs. "You're behaving like a child, you know."

"Now you sound like Mycroft."

"Although, in essence, you rather are a child. The whole world is new to you, every experience something to examine. The only difference is you're expected to know this already, and a child isn't."

I risked a glance at him. He was grinning insanely. "I got it, didn't I? Oh, Sherlock, your face says it all."

I looked at the floor again. If this was who Sherlock Holmes was, a raging sociopath who worked with murders and had a man like this for an arch-enemy, than I didn't want to be him. I wanted to be someone who was relatively normal, someone people could tolerate, and one who didn't have an arch-enemy. All I wanted was to be normal. Tears threatened to start spilling again. Moriarty wrapped his arms around me in an attempt to comfort me. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, did I upset you? Usually I'd enjoy this as much as the next person, seeing your closed off heart open up, but in your state, that really can't be good, can it? Don't cry, please."

But it was too late. I was shaking all over. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do anything except sit there and cry, as the man who terrified me so much soothed me and tried to help me calm down. I felt like a toddler, and I didn't care. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore. Then Moriarty started singing a lullaby. I wanted to stay awake, prove I was better than that, if nothing else. But sleep kept gnawing at me, and soon I was fast asleep with the world's most dangerous criminal sitting next to me, singing me into oblivion.

* * *

**Moriarty:**

I'll admit, it was fun toying with Sherlock. He had no control over his emotions whatsoever, and seeing his pure fear and anger towards me was such a refreshing change to the cool exterior he kept up the rest of the time. But when he woke up, I knew I needed to play him over to my side. Still, when I walked in it was all I could do not to burst out laughing at his eyes being all red and puffy. He was crying in the face of fear, much like that little boy I used with Sherlock during the Vermeer painting. And that gave me the inspiration I needed to get him to work with me. "Have a good nap did we?"

He didn't say anything. He just stared at everything around us, as if I hadn't even spoken. I was a little irked, but Sherlock having to be Sherlock without knowing how to _would_ be pretty hard. "You're behaving like a child, you know." He mumbled something about sounding like Mycroft, but I just plowed on. "Although, in essence, you rather are a child. The whole world is new to you, every experience something to examine. The only difference is you're expected to know this already, and a child isn't. …I got it, didn't I? Oh, Sherlock, your face says it all."

He tucked his head in between his knees. He was on the verge of a breakdown now, but if I wanted this to go quickly, I needed to break him down as soon as possible. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, did I upset you? Usually I'd enjoy this as much as the next person, seeing your closed off heart open up, but in your state, that really can't be good, can it? Don't cry, please." I knew it was in vain, but I didn't expect him to break as much as he did! He was heaving and shaking and looking overall undignified. But he didn't care, and I was just one step closer to he and I being able to work together. After a little while, I wanted to see just how deep this new revelation ran. So I sang him a lullaby, and within minutes he was fast asleep huddled in his corner! I got up and walked out of the room. As I passed Mycroft on the way out, I said, "It appears your brother has regressed into a 2-year-old in all but his size. I look forward to seeing how we can use this to our advantage." He just nodded and said, "I hope you have better luck with him now than I did about 25 years ago…"

* * *

**Well, writing Sherlock regressing... ... ...I'm sorry if you guys hate this now or don't enjoy it being it like this, but in a way, I'm living up to the summary. He's becoming a normal toddler. Don't worry, though, his condition will improve...and hopefully sooner or later show signs of being a normal adult, and not a kid. But, I do love the idea of John using this as blackmail material...heheheh...just keep an eye out, I suppose.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So glad to know you guys don't mind where this story is going, I really just let the story shape itself into whatever it wants, I'm just that kind of author. 49478-It's always good to hear that the story is still fun to read. I worry about that. And to everyone who follows, favorites, reviews, or just reads, you guys are amazing. I didn't expect my story to be popular, just to get my muse to quit bugging me and maybe get a few readers. You guys are awesome. So, since it's another snow day (2nd one of the week. You may or may not know about that snowstorm going around the east coast) here y'all go:**

* * *

**Mycroft:**

Sherlock's new development was rather…interesting. John and Greg had yet to call me, so I decided to go in and get a good look at Sherlock myself. He seemed almost the same on the outside, someone who didn't know what was going on would probably just have assumed he got bored and fell asleep in the corner out of sheer boredom and stubbornness. But his knees were tear stained, his hair was even more of a rat's nest than usual, and the way he slept was exactly how he would when he was 2 and received sensory overload. I would have had to calm him down by taking him to a familiar place, and soothe him to sleep, at which time he would just hang limp like a rag doll. He shifted, and I realized I probably should make him a little more comfortable. I got him a navy blue blanket, just like when he was little and he would never put it down. I draped it around his shoulders, and left a little note attached to it:

_I hope this makes you feel a little more at home. –My_

I figured if he was going to act like a 2-year-old, he'd probably use that nickname. And as I left, my suspicions were confirmed by a small "Thank you, My," coming from the corner. I just turned, offered a small smile and nod, and left the room to start on the day's work.

* * *

**John:**

By the time I went to Baker Street and warned Mrs. Hudson to look out for Sherlock and arrived at NSY, Greg had a huge stack of folders in his office. "I finished talking to everyone, and no one would help, so I got out any files that could potentially tell us who would take Sherlock."

"Sherlock made a lot of enemies in just a few years," I said. If Sherlock were here in all of his Sherlockiness, he would have snorted, said _obviously_, and then pulled out just the right folder for the person in question. But he wasn't. He was hardly even Sherlock any more. I pushed these thoughts aside in favor of getting down to business. "Okay. Clearly we have a lot of files to go through. Let's get to work." Greg and I quickly decided how to start sorting. We first made two piles of who was incapable of getting to Sherlock, and who wasn't. That narrowed down about half of the pile, because even though some people were behind bars, they had connections. Then we went about looking for who could conceivably know that Sherlock had amnesia. And, as a further extent, who could use it. By that time there was just a single slim folder. It didn't even have 10 pages in it, and all it was labeled by was a single name. _Moriarty_. Greg stared at the folder. "John. Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? Because if you aren't…"

"There isn't another solution. If anyone could and would use this to their advantage, it would be Moriarty." I was standing completely still and straight, my voice perfectly even. And this sent alarm bells through everyone's heads. Sgt. Donovan poked her head into the office. "John? Are you all right?"

I turned around and looked at her, and she flinched at the sight of me. I must have been even more furious than I thought. "Moriarty has kidnapped Sherlock." She just blinked, nodded, and went to tell everyone else. No one here liked Sherlock, but if Moriarty had kidnapped him, then the entire world could be destroyed in a matter of minutes if they decided to work together. I just turned back to Greg and said, "Well, at least you now have the entire force on your side." He just nodded. I gave him my gun and asked him to hold on to it. "If we find Moriarty and Sherlock is nearby, I don't want to take care of him until I find out where Sherlock is." Greg said he would keep it safe and away from me during this, and I thanked him and went to call Mycroft.

* * *

**Sherlock:**

The blanket My gave me was nice. It was just like the one I had years ago. _No, _I told myself, _don't think about it._ I had decided not to delve into previous memories in favor of making new ones. If I was half like the person I think I was then I wasn't going to go back to being him. But I liked how he called Mycroft My, and decided to use it. Moriarty was right. I was like a kid. I had nothing to fall back on to see whether I would like something or not, I used childish nicknames, I had no biases on what to think, unless I looked into my memories. Which I had decided I wasn't going to do. Moriarty was such a bad guy in my memories, but aside from slight teasing, he seemed to actually be kind of nice. I didn't see why everyone seemed to dislike him; he was only ever nice to me. I decided if he came in here again to talk to him. He was just trying to figure out what was wrong the last time, he just wanted to help. At least, that's what I hoped. He came in soon enough with a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. "Do you mind? I love peanut butter and I was hoping we could talk over lunch."

I hesitated, but shifted over a little as an invitation to sit down. He smiled and took it. I took a sandwich. He asked me something that I couldn't make out. "Sorry, what?"

He rolled his eyes and held up one finger, then swallowed. "I said, 'You've warmed up to me quick haven't you?'"

I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn't really know why I decided to trust him, I just figured I'd give him a chance of my own, instead of relying on my memories for opinions. "I just…did. Does there have to be a reason?"

He smiled. "No, I guess there doesn't. Who knows why people do things?" We just sat and ate in silence for a while after that until a question popped into my head. "Why did you hit me with that dictionary when I first woke up? If you're being all nice now, why did you do it?"

He seemed surprised I could make an observation like that. "Even with your mind becoming normal, you're still above the average intelligence, aren't you, Sherlock? That's why I like you. But, in answer to your question, we didn't exactly leave last time on friendly terms. By the way you first reacted to me I know you can remember it if you choose to. I didn't realize the extent of your situation, Sherlock. I thought you were the same man you were that night at the pool. But you aren't. I'm sorry I jumped to that conclusion."

"S'okay." I was getting tired again. I don't know why I'm tired more often now.

"You're really a kid, Sherlock. That doesn't stop amazing me. Right down to taking naps, you really are about developmentally a 2-year-old. After your nap, we can talk again, okay?"

"Mm." I was too tired to say anything else.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Sherlock, we are friends now, right? I hope we can be friends."

"Mm-hm." I meant it. I really meant we could be friends. I wanted to be friends more than anything right now. But I was so tired… I pulled my blanket up over my shoulders. We could wait to talk about it after I woke up…

I just wanted to sleep…

* * *

**Moriarty:**

Sherlock was getting a little restless, and it was about lunch time, so I made some sandwiches and walked in hoping we could talk this time. "Do you mind? I love peanut butter and I was hoping we could talk over lunch."

Sherlock shifted over, which I took as a yes and sat down. He took a sandwich, and I followed suit. "You've warmed up to me quick, haven't you?" I asked. The peanut butter messed my words up though, because Sherlock immediately asked, "Sorry, what?" At least he was talking to me. I held up a finger, and after I got rid of the bite in question, said, "I said, 'You've warmed up to me quick haven't you?'"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. He was being a bit more vocal, and at least he was responding, but it would be nice if he would talk again. "I just…did. Does there have to be a reason?" Ah. There we go. "No, I guess there doesn't. Who knows why people do things?" For a little bit we just sat there, while Sherlock was thinking something over. "Why did you hit me with that dictionary when I first woke up? If you're being all nice now, why did you do it?"

Ooh. If I didn't answer this one right all this work could go to waste. Still, he was making strong connections, which was more than I could say about even my own men. "Even with your mind becoming normal, you're still above the average intelligence, aren't you, Sherlock? That's why I like you. But, in answer to your question, we didn't exactly leave last time on friendly terms. By the way you first reacted to me I know you can remember it if you choose to. I didn't realize the extent of your situation, Sherlock. I thought you were the same man you were that night at the pool. But you aren't. I'm sorry I jumped to that conclusion."

"S'okay." He was getting tired again. So that wasn't just a one-time thing. He really was regressing.

"You're really a kid, Sherlock. That doesn't stop amazing me. Right down to taking naps, you really are about developmentally a 2-year-old. After your nap, we can talk again, okay?"

"Mm." He completely believed all of it! This was even easier than I thought it was going to be. Now for the final move. "Oh, I almost forgot! Sherlock, we are friends now, right? I hope we can be friends."

"Mm-hmm." And he just drifted off after that. I laid him down on the ground, picked up the remnants of our lunch, and left the room. He didn't remember anything, because he didn't want to. He was CHOOSING to not remember, and he was willingly working with me now. I couldn't help but smile. This was easier than dealing with Carl Powers.

* * *

**Sorry it's long! I just had to put Moriarty's POV in this. Mycroft will hopefully sooner or later be found out to be working with Moriarty, and Sherlock will eventually be found…but what will happen when he is told the truth?**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: So…Chapters XII and XIII are going to be posted today, provided the laptop I work on cooperates, because…well…this gets kind of long, and context would be lost if I posted this later. But Mycroft and Sherlock talking back and forth was so cute I didn't want to cut anything out. Potterhorse-spirit- Thank you! I love hearing people enjoy my story. It gives me more reason to write than just getting my muse to shut up. ;-)**

* * *

**Mycroft:**

I went to my office and brought up the camera footage from last night at Baker Street and deleted the part where I carried Sherlock out to Moriarty's car. I didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea that I kidnapped him. Or, actually, the right idea that I kidnapped him. I just pulled up the current footage when I received a call from John. "Hello?"

"Mycroft, it's John."

"Yes, I know. My phone has caller ID."

"Oh, right. Listen, we have our suspect."

"And?"

"Sherlock's with Moriarty." My blood ran cold.

"Moriarty? Are you sure?"

"He's the only one we could think of with the ability to know about Sherlock having amnesia, and find him and use him for his own plans. Can you find any footage of him from last night?"

I couldn't believe they could figure out it was Moriarty that fast. If it took them a matter of hours to find out that, how long would it take for those two to realize he had help? "Mycroft? Are you still there? Listen, Sherlock's going to be fine. He remembers Moriarty, it's not like he'll be tricked into working with him." But that was exactly what was happening. "MYCROFT!"

"What?! I was looking through the footage, Dr. Watson."

"Oh…sorry."

"I know you think I can do everything all at once, but Moriarty takes painful precautions to make sure he isn't discovered. Finding him takes time. I looked through the footage of Baker Street that night and couldn't find anything particularly unusual."

"Were there any black cars doing surveillance on the house? I've seen a few do that recently…"

"Doctor Watson, I do that."

"Oh. Listen, maybe I could come and help you. And when I say maybe, I mean I'm coming over and you had better be ready for company." He hung up before I could protest. I sighed and looked at the clock. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I sighed and went to check on Sherlock and Moriarty, to make sure that neither one of them had killed the other. I went into the observation room. "How is he?" I was almost afraid of the answer. He was lying on the floor, not moving. Then he rolled over and looked at the window. "Boooooorrrrrrreeeeeeddddd!" He yelled. Moriarty cracked a smile. "He's been like that for about an hour. Apparently, a 2-year-old's attention span and his usual attention span are just about the same length. He started yelling that 5 minutes after he woke up from his nap."

"He took a nap? _Sherlock_ took a nap? Sherlock never took naps."

"Well, he took one today. Do you want to visit him? It might make him stop yelling."

I cleared my throat and straightened up. "Of course."

"Oh, and he does talk like a toddler, too, just a fair warning."

"All right." I turned and braced myself for whatever might lie behind the door in front of me. I opened the door and stuck my head in. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock's face lit up when he saw me. "My! You're back!" His voice made my stomach flip. It only sounded like his normal voice in its pitch, otherwise it sounded like he was two again. That dictionary must have done more damage to his brain than had already been done. I put a fake smile on that seemed to fool him. "Yeah, Sherlock. I wanted to see how you're doing. Moriarty said you took a nap today. I was a little surprised." That was an understatement, of course, but what Sherlock didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Oh, yeah. I don't know why, I just got really tired after lunch. So I fell asleep. That blanket you gave me was nice. It's real warm but it isn't too warm."

"Good. I'm glad you like it. Are you feeling better with it?"

"Yeah. Can I have something to do? I get real bored in here without someone to talk to, and Jim hasn't come back since lunch."

"I'll see if maybe I can find you something soon, Sherlock. But I have to go talk to…_Jim_ soon about your memory, to see if we can get it back."

"No, My! NO!"

His force took me by surprise. "Why? Don't you want your memory back, Sherlock?" He shook his head so violently his curls landed on top of his head, and he had to hold his head in his hands. "I don't want to be…Sherlock. I-I am Sherlock, but I don't want to be _Sherlock_ Sherlock. Um…"

"You don't want to be the person you were when you had those memories?" He looked relieved and nodded his head. "Why? Sherlock, why don't you want your memories? Your memories make you who you are."

"Exactly. I don't want to be Sherlock. I wanna be normal! I WANNA BE NORMAL!" Tears brimmed in his eyes. "My, I don't want to be a soc-i-o-path. I want to be…to be…" I bent down and pulled him into an awkward hug. "Sherlock, don't be ridiculous. You've never been normal. Do you really think not having your memories will change that?" His chin dug into my shoulder when he nodded. I sighed. "Sherlock, I'm going to tell you a secret: There is no such thing as normal. If you want to be as close to normal as you can get, you should let your memories come back. Sherlock, don't be scared of your memories."

"I'm not scared, My."

I pulled him away so he could see my smirk. "You could have fooled me."

"I'm NOT! I'm not scared, My!" He looked very indignant, much more like his normal self. "Then prove it." He promptly told me everything he could about Lestrade. Everything up to the case where he lost his memory. He must not have remembered that, if he did, he would definitely have said so. "See? I'm not scared. I just don't _want_ to remember." He smiled smugly. I gave up. John would be here soon. "Okay Sherlock. You win. But I still need to talk to Jim, okay? We still need to figure out what to do with you."

"Well, if you need help, I can give you some advice." I whirled around. John was standing in the doorway, Greg just behind him. "Care to explain, Mycroft?"

* * *

**Sherlock:**

I wasn't scared of my memories. I just didn't want to be that sociopath that everyone thought I was. I _wasn't_ scared of my memories. I was scared of the man in the door though. He was so different from the John in the flat, it seemed like they couldn't be the same person. I didn't like what was going on. I didn't like all the people looking at me and asking questions, and yelling at My. So I decided to not listen to them anymore, and I just fell asleep. I ignored John asking me to wake up, I ignored Greg shaking me to keep me awake, I just shut everything out and fell asleep. But I wished I could have kept doing that when we got to the police station.

* * *

**Mycroft's section was so long, so next chapter will be John's perspective on this, and someone else's too. I would add a longer section here; but this was so long already; I couldn't bear to put you through more than you had to.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Here's the second chapter I said I'd post. All I really have to say on the subject…since while I'm typing I haven't even **_**posted**_** Chapter XII yet…sorry. I'll talk about reviews next time, 'kay? 'KAY?!**

* * *

**John:**

Mycroft seemed different on the phone. I mean, sure, Moriarty taking Sherlock gives reason to be scared. But he seemed more than scared. He seemed…nervous. If I didn't know any better, I'd say...defensive. I told him I was coming over, and there was nothing he could do about it, but I was coming over much sooner than I let on. I hung up and immediately motioned for Greg to follow me. As we walked out I said, "Something's not right with Mycroft. He turned a little defensive as soon as I said Moriarty took Sherlock."

"So? That gives him every right to be different."

"But defensive? Something isn't right."

"Okay, where does he work, I'll get a few officers right over."

"No, we're going ourselves. Get someone organizing backup, but we are going, you and me, right now."

Greg looked at Sgt. Donovan and said to get everyone available to the address I said. She nodded and broke into a run down the hall. I broke in a run in the opposite direction opting for the stairs instead of the lift. Greg only got in front of me when he got into the driver's seat. Not that I blame him, I would have sped through the streets and caused a few accidents. We got to Mycroft's office and with one look at me and I was directed to a holding cell that had Sherlock and Mycroft in it, and Moriarty standing looking on. Moriarty just turned around at us and smiled. He put a finger on his lips and pointed to the mirror, indicating for us to listen. I wasn't having any of it I slammed him into the wall and might have strangled him if Greg hadn't pulled me off him and handcuffed him securely.

I opened the door to the cell. "Okay Sherlock. You win. But I still need to talk to Jim, okay? We still need to figure out what to do with you."

"Well, if you need help, I can give you some advice. Care to explain, Mycroft?"

The next minutes were a blur. Officers started pouring in, taking Moriarty away and questioning (I should say screaming at) Mycroft, and trying to compose themselves to talk to Sherlock. I walked over to him and started asking him a few questions of my own, like how was he and did they hurt him, but he just shut his eyes tight and started falling asleep. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up. Please wake up, Sherlock." He was having none of it. Greg shook him, but it still did nothing. He just kept on sleeping. We picked him up and carried him out to the car, and took him still sleeping down to the police station. We put him in a separate room from the others, not wanting them to influence him. Pretty soon he woke up, thankfully, but after a while I was left wishing he had stayed asleep.

* * *

**Sherlock:**

I woke up someplace new. Again. This was getting really old. I looked up and saw Greg and John arguing on the other side of the room. "Listen, if what they're saying is true, Sherlock could be in a very shaky state of mind and be in no condition to help us!"

"No, you listen! Sherlock is Sherlock, and no matter what, he always keeps collected. There is no way he could be so shaken down by Moriarty that he would regress into a toddler! There is just _no way!_"

I cleared my throat. If they wanted answers they could get them from me. The two men both turned my way, and their stares were enough to make me instantly regret it. I realized that I was still holding my blanket, and pulled it over my head. "Sherlock?" John walked over to me and tried to pull the blanket off my head. "Nnno. No!" I clung on to the blanket with a death grip. "No! My blanket! MINE!" He was not giving in though. He ripped the blanket out of my hands. "NO! NO! IT'S MINE!"

"Sherlock, since when do you care so much about a stupid blanket?!" I just stared at him, scowling.

"John, he cares so much because _he is a toddler_. Those two were right!"

"That can't be right! He can't be two. He just can't!"

"And he's sitting right here." I mumbled. Those two both looked at me again. If they kept that up, I wasn't going to keep talking to them. "Stop looking at me like that! And gimme back my blanket! John! Give it back!" I yanked it back and threw it over myself again. I curled into a ball, or as much as I could curl into a ball with a blanket over my head and someone trying to rip it off. "NO. Sherlock! *mph* No, take it off!"

I poked my head out of the blanket. I kept the rest of it wrapped around me, which John didn't seem to like very much, but Greg convinced him to let it go, and to see if he could keep Donovan and Anderson (whoever they were) quiet about this. John grudgingly left, and Greg sighed and sat down in a chair. "I don't want to talk." I said. If I didn't want to, he couldn't make me. I'd rather talk to My or Jim. At least those two were nice to me. "Sherlock, I'm going to tell you up front a few things that you need to know. First, you have to talk. Sooner or later we're going to need some kind of statement from you about what happened when you were abducted. Second, you don't have to talk now, but the sooner you do the sooner we can sort out this mess, and hopefully you'll be able to go home. Third, I don't know what those two did to you, I don't know how or why, but those two are being faced with criminal charges, and that means that they are the bad guys." I looked at him, right in the eyes. He could tell I was hurt. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but it's true. They're the ones who are breaking the law. They abducted you in the middle of the night, took you without any notice, to use you as they pleased."

"No…"

"Sherlock-"

"NO."

"Sherlock, listen to me."

"NO!" I jumped up, knocking the chair that I was sitting in over, and ran towards the door. I tried to get it open, but I was having some trouble. As soon as I did, John grabbed me and tackled me to the ground. I was screaming and kicking and trying to get free, but it was no use. Eventually I just gave up, covered myself with my blanket, and cried. I wanted to talk to Jim or My. Get the truth from them. Even if it hurt. But they weren't letting me. Soon, though, someone walked over to me and started rubbing my head and shushing me. "Come on Sherlock, that's low, even for you."

I just turned and wrapped my brother in the biggest bear hug ever, crying into his shoulder. He just turned and said to everyone standing around us, "Well, do you believe me now?" As I buried my head deeper into his suit and he pulled my blanket around me, as I calmed down and walked back into the room with him. And as long as I was with My, I'd be willing to keep quiet. We sat on one side and John and Greg sat on the other. Greg sighed and said, "Well, then, let's start from the beginning."

* * *

**So…Sherlock…he's…um…yeah. I'm just going to…move on now…*ducks quickly out of doorway* see you next chapter!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Chapter XIV and still going strong! You guys are great! Potterhorse-Spirit- Sorry, I just love messing with people's emotions *laughs manically and rubs hands suspiciously* So...another chapter to keep the feels flowing.**

**Oh, and I give credit to BritishSweden for the idea of coloring. I'm not the only one who likes to write Sherlock as an adult and kid at the same time, guys!**

* * *

**John:**

Sherlock was almost silent the entire time. He would only answer yes or no questions, unless Mycroft was asking him them, and if Greg or I didn't ask them first. Our conversation was then somewhat limited. Moriarty and Mycroft were actually cooperating, but since Sherlock wasn't giving us any information, we really didn't have anything more solid than their word, and that was shaky at best, unusable at worst. We needed Sherlock to talk, even if he was only 2 in his head, he really was still an adult, and he was the proof we needed to get Moriarty and Mycroft in trouble. But he wouldn't help. He just sat there, picking at his shoes. "Don't worry, he did something similar to me the second time he saw me."

Greg pulled out his gun, and I pulled out mine, since I had finally got it back. "Oh, no. You really shouldn't shoot me, Johnny-boy. Then poor Sherlock will never work with you." I turned and looked at Sherlock. He had a look of terror on his face and his blanket was drawn up to his neck. I was beginning to think that was his security blanket. "Don't shoot him. Please." His voice was so quiet. It was scared, and it sounded so fragile it seemed if I even breathed I would break it. "Yeah…yeah, okay Sherlock. But you'll have to answer some questions for me, if you want me to do something for you. That's how it's going to work around here." He hesitated then nodded. I lowered my gun, and Greg did the same. "Thank you. I was just bringing Sherlock there something to do anyway. He was yelling 'bored' earlier today at the top of his lungs, and I was hoping this would help." He pulled out some colored pencils and paper. Sherlock's face lit up and he reached out for the supplies. "Thank you." He said as he chose which color he was going to use first.

I looked disbelievingly at Sherlock, then Moriarty, who just smiled back. I sighed and said, "Okay, Sherlock, ready for the questions?"

"Yeah." He kept on scribbling.

"Right then. Do you remember anything after you were taken?"

He stopped and looked up. "Like what? What I ate? How much I slept? What I did?"

"Well, did you get hurt in any way again over the past day?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "…Yes, but he did it on accident,"

"Who, Moriarty? What did he hit you with?"

"…A dictionary." He pantomimed the size, and I paled. "Sherlock, that's a really big dictionary. That can really damage your brain! And when I say really damage, I mean that if you got hard enough with that, I wouldn't be surprised if you got killed from it! Why in the world-"

"JOHN!" I stopped and looked at Mycroft. He nodded at Sherlock. He had tears in his eyes, and looked on the verge of another breakdown. Tears started slipping down his face, and his lip quivered. He then pulled his blanket over his head and started shaking. Then he started sobbing, and soon he was ready to fall out of his chair.

"Oh…um…sorry, Sherlock. I…uh…I didn't mean to scare you. Come out, please." He looked up and sniffled. "P-p-please, d-don't s-s-s-say any-th-thing like that again. I'm not the soc-i-o-path you think I am…I don't like hearing stuff like that…"

I actually laughed at that. He sounded so cute trying to say sociopath. "Sherlock, please, you are anything but the sociopath I knew. I just forgot that for a second."

"S'okay." He shrugged, and offered a small smile. "You wanna draw?" He offered me a piece of paper and a pencil. "Yeah, okay buddy. I'll draw with you."

"Can J-Jim draw with us?" I looked at Moriarty who shrugged. "If you don't kill me, I won't kill you." And that started our uneasy alliance between the toddler, the army doctor, and the consulting criminal.

* * *

**Moriarty:**

I heard Sherlock having a meltdown in the hall. He quieted down soon enough, but I knew that he was still going to be upset. So I grabbed some paper and pencils and just left the room, all the officers left the place to see Sherlock's tantrum. I must admit it was funny seeing it the first time myself, but I did want to have him work with me instead of them, so I walked into the room. They were asking Sherlock questions, and he just picked at his shoes and fiddled with his shoelaces. "Don't worry, he did something similar to me the second time he saw me." I instantly had two guns pointing at my chest. "Oh, no. You really shouldn't shoot me, Johnny-boy. Then poor Sherlock will never work with you." His eyes were widened in terror and he looked like someone just told him his pet puppy had died. He had such an innocence about him when he was like this. "Don't shoot him. Please." I tried my hardest not to snicker at how little he sounded. But he was 2, I reminded myself. _Give him a sandwich and a smile and your instantly his best friend._

"Yeah…yeah, okay Sherlock. But you'll have to answer some questions for me, if you want me to do something for you. That's how it's going to work around here." Everyone was falling for him! It was unbelievable! Sherlock nodded and the guns were no longer pointed at me.

"Thank you. I was just bringing Sherlock there something to do anyway. He was yelling 'bored' earlier today at the top of his lungs, and I was hoping this would help." I pulled out the colored pencils and paper, and Sherlock was immediately focusing only on the supplies I held in my hand. "Thank you," he mumbled as he started working on his new toys. John seemed surprised that we were actually leading a mutual existence. I just smiled at him. Of course, I would have loved for Sherlock to work with me from the start. It was only because he worked for the other side I wanted to kill him. Now he could help me, and we could easily get along. John just sighed in defeat and got started. "Okay, Sherlock, ready for the questions?"

"Yeah." He was working hard on whatever he was drawing.

"Right then. Do you remember anything after you were taken?"

He stopped and looked up. "Like what? What I ate? How much I slept? What I did?"

"Well, did you get hurt in any way again over the past day?"

He shifted uncomfortably. I winced. "…Yes, but he did it on accident,"

"Who, Moriarty?" I suppose old Johnny-boy would assume it was me. "What did he hit you with?"

"…A dictionary." He showed some measurements that were if anything too small. "Sherlock, that's a really big dictionary. That can really damage your brain! And when I say really damage, I mean that if you got hard enough with that, I wouldn't be surprised if you got killed from it! Why in the world-"

"JOHN!" I blinked. I had never heard Mycroft yell before, let alone at John. But Sherlock was ready to cry, and John was completely unaware. He was pretty soon hiding under his security blanket and sobbing.

"Oh…um…sorry, Sherlock. I…uh…I didn't mean to scare you. Come out, please." He looked up and gave a pitiful sniff. "P-p-please, d-don't s-s-s-say any-th-thing like that again. I'm not the soc-i-o-path you think I am… I don't like hearing stuff like that…"

"Sherlock, please, you are anything but the sociopath I knew. I just forgot that for a second."

"S'okay." He started to smile, bouncing right back. "You wanna draw?" He handed John a pencil and paper. "Yeah, okay buddy. I'll draw with you."

His eyes flicked over to me. "Can J-Jim draw with us?" John looked at me questioningly and I simply answered, "If you won't kill me, I won't kill you." And soon we were drawing, all three of us, while Sherlock was explaining what happened from his point of view. When he came to the part about Mycroft giving him the blanket, the old Ice Man just blushed and looked away. When he said I comforted him and brought him PB&J, I shrugged and said, "What? I like sandwiches." Earning a small smile from John and a bigger one from Sherlock with a, "Me too." Then he got to the conversation he had with Mycroft, and both John and I looked surprised when Sherlock explained the hug to us. "He doesn't hug much, I can tell. But I also know he meant it." Soon he was done with his story, and with his drawing. It looked like a bunch of stick figures and squiggles, but for a kid who's 2 in a twenty-something year old man's body it wasn't bad. "That's very good, Sherlock." He smiled. "It's all of us. Running around London." Sure, some people were in the air and most of the coloring was done outside the lines, but if you looked at it and knew what it was, you could see it. He suddenly looked startled and bolted straight. John instantly looked around the room for any immediate danger, like all of us sitting at one table trying to be civil wasn't dangerous enough. "Sherlock, what is it?"

"I have to go to the bathroom."

He just stood there a moment then laughed. "Okay, buddy. I'll take you there. I'm assuming you are toilet trained already."

"Of course I am!" He looked very indignant. It was almost endearing when he pouted his lip as if to say _I'm not THAT stupid_. As they left, Mycroft and I shared a look. That drawing he made looked suspiciously like the last case he worked on. But as long as he kept quiet, we would be all right. _But how do we to keep a 2-year-old Sherlock quiet about a scandal as big as that?_

* * *

**The scandal makes a reappearance! I'm trying to keep this as cutesy as possible, but next chapter Sherlock might make a revelation. Then things, as I like to say, **_**get complicated**_**. Hope you guys keep up the enjoyment!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Yay! Reviews make for a happy author. Potterhouse-spirit- Why, I almost want to say thank you. Almost. ;) But really, that made me laugh. MUAHAHAHAHAAAAA! ...Okay, I'm done.**

**...Or am I?**

* * *

**Sherlock:**

When we were away from Jim and My, I pulled John into an empty room and closed the door. "What?! Sherlock, I thought you had to use the bathroom?!"

"John, I need to tell you something, and I don't want anyone else to know yet. I need to trust you."

That made him get real quiet for a moment. "Okay, buddy. We can talk. We don't have to tell Lestrade or Mycroft or even Moriarty yet if you don't want to. What is it?"

I sighed with relief. "I've been having nightmares. It's the same one every time I fall asleep, and it's scaring me. I'm helping to catch a bad guy who kills too strong or too smart people in the gov-govern…government-" Those long words are hard, "-and…in the dream I think that…" I couldn't finish. I shook my head. I had to. "I think that My hires Jim to tell this guy what to do. Then I'm chasing him around London and then he hits my head and-and-and…and then it starts over and over and over again, 'til I wake up." I look up to see John's reaction. He's gone pale. "That's a scary dream, buddy. And this happens every time you fall asleep?"

"Uh-huh." I nod my head, wondering if I should have told John. "You were right to tell me, Sherlock." I look up. John seems really, really, nervous. "I'm not sure if there's anything I can do to make it stop, but just let me know when it happens, and I can sit with you until you fall asleep again. Does that sound good?" I nod my head. "And it's just a dream, okay? Don't stress out about it. I can take you back to the room now if you want." I nod and turn to leave.

"Sherlock? Is that what your drawing was? The nightmare?" I nod. I didn't want to draw it, but I was kinda hoping it would help. Then he takes me back to My and Jim. He talks to Greg about something, but I'm busy with another drawing. This time, I think I'll do something that isn't about nightmares. Maybe me as a pirate…?

* * *

**John:**

Sherlock never ceases to surprise me, even as a 2-year-old. So when Sherlock pulled me into an empty room, I was very confused and not just a little bit suspicious. "What?! Sherlock, I thought you had to use the bathroom?!"

"John, I need to tell you something, and I don't want anyone else to know yet. _I need to trust you._" That made me pause. This was the longest response I had received from him since we found him in that holding cell. "Okay, buddy. We can talk. We don't have to tell Lestrade or Mycroft or even Moriarty yet if you don't want to. What is it?"

He sighed and started telling me the most disturbing story ever uttered from a 2-year-old's mouth: "I've been having nightmares. It's the same one every time I fall asleep, and it's scaring me. I'm helping to catch a bad guy who kills too strong or too smart people in the gov-govern…gov-ern-ment and…in the dream I think that…" He shook his head in frustration. "I think that My hires Jim to tell this guy what to do. Then I'm chasing him around London and then he hits my head and-and-and…and then it starts over and over and over again, 'til I wake up."

I paled. I couldn't help it. That was the last case we worked on. The one where Sherlock woke up in the alley with nothing in that stupid head of his. I tried to compose myself for the sake of Sherlock now, since it would be no good to go and completely panic right in front of him. "That's a scary dream, buddy. And this happens every time you fall asleep?"

"Uh-huh." So he definitely remembered it, but he couldn't figure out what to make of it. I guess that makes sense. "You were right to tell me, Sherlock." He looked up at me, doubt in his eyes. He wasn't going to take the arrest lightly when he finally spoke up to Greg. "I'm not sure if there's anything I can do to make it stop, but just let me know when it happens, and I can sit with you until you fall asleep again. Does that sound good?" He nods his head, and I continue. "And it's just a dream, okay? Don't stress out about it. I can take you back to the room now if you want." He nods and starts to head back, but I need one more question answered first. "Sherlock? Is that what your drawing was? The nightmare?" He nods again. This couldn't have been easy for him, coming to me. When he goes back to the room he immediately goes back to the art supplies, Mycroft starting to draw with him, and Moriarty looking on in pleasant amusement. I drag Greg over to a corner and start talking to him. "Sherlock remembers the last case."

"WHAT?"

"Shhh! Not so loud! He doesn't know what it means, he thinks it's just some crazy nightmare."

"Well? Tell me, then! What happened?!"

"I can't. He made me say I wouldn't tell, and technically he doesn't even want me talking about the nightmare in general. I want him to trust me. I shouldn't even be telling you this much."

He runs a hand through his hair and risks a glance at Sherlock. He's moved on to poking Mycroft with a pencil and giggling hysterically when Mycroft looks up from where he's still drawing. I can only imagine what's running through the man's head right now. Greg speaks again. "Okay, we need to get him to tell me sometime. Are you going to say you told me about his nightmares?"

"I guess I have to."

"Tell him something like it's only so no one panics, runs in here and shoots Moriarty."

"What scares me is that will actually affect him."

"Yeah, I know. Good luck, John."

"You too."

* * *

**Mycroft:**

_Do not punch Sherlock. Do not punch Sherlock. Whatever you do, do not punch Sherlock. Just keep drawing. Pretend he isn't there. DO NOT PUNCH HIM, MYCROFT HOLMES! Don't look up…don't look up…See what happens when you look up? He just laughs hysterically!_

_Do not punch Sherlock. Do not punch Sherlock. See, John's coming over to help you, unlike Moriarty. But, he does seem nervous…oh. Do not punch Sherlock! DO NOT PUNCH SHERLOCK! IT DOES NOT MATTER IF HE TOLD JOHN, MYCROFT HOLMES! DO. NOT. PUNCH. SHERLOCK!_

_..._

_..._

…_It may make you feel better, but it will hurt you in the long run._

* * *

**Mycroft gives paaaaayyyyybaaaaack! Hahaha! That entire last one was a thought process, if you didn't understand. I loved writing the ever calm British Government punching its little brother. (Which could in a way be American Government…but then America…this can really hurt your head. You know what? Ignore me. :-D) So the laptop I usually write on went kaput. :'-( That means slower updates, if there are updates at all. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! …It's not my fault guys, that thing's monitor is almost completely unhinged and the brightness factor is near nil. I can't work like that...I have to use my dad's sporadically at the moment...**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: the fangirl 2013- Don't worry, Sherlock isn't getting punched again. (It does get mentioned, but that's it.) Potterhorse-Spirit- Thanks. I try to make Sherlock cute and awkward in this.**

**So…*sheds tear* this is the final chapter! Thank you to all my readers, followers, favoriters, and reviewers. You guys inspired me to write this as much as my muse and all those plot bunnies. So…here you guys go…*sniff* the ending.**

* * *

**Sherlock:**

I had stopped drawing pretty fast, because it got boring. So I started poking My with the pencils. It was really funny when his face would scrunch up when he would look at me, and I just laughed and poked him again when he kept drawing. Or was he writing now? I couldn't tell. John started walking over to us and My's eyes got bigger for a second. Then he punched me so hard I fell out of my chair. What was that for? It really, really hurt when he did that. I felt like I was going to cry. "My…?" I looked up at him. He had his head in his hands. He looked really mad. I was definitely going to cry. Before I could, though, Greg helped me up and led me to a different room. This one had a bed in it, instead of a table. He led me over to the bed. "Why is My mad at me?"

"I'm not sure, Sherlock. You were poking him a lot with pencils, maybe he just had enough?" He wasn't telling me what he thought. "You're lying. Your eyes say you are." I didn't really know how I knew that, and I didn't care. He sighed. "John told me you were having nightmares, Sherlock. He didn't say what they were about, but he was going to talk to you about them. I think Mycroft's in them, right?" When I nodded, he kept talking. "Well, your nightmare is about the last case you were working on before you lost your memory. Mycroft wanted it to be kept a secret, so he took you away when you started to remember. Now he's in trouble for kidnapping you, and for hiring Moriarty to kill those people."

"My hired Jim to hire someone else," I corrected. He needed to get it right.

"…Yeah, that's what I said."

"No, you said Jim killed the people. Jim made someone else do it. He didn't do it himself." Get it right, stop being so stupid!

"…Okay…Whatever you say, Sherlock."

"No! Stop being an idiot and get it right! It matters!"

He smiled. "Yeah, I know, I know. It matters. I'll put it that way in the report."

"Say it the right way too. What's the point if you write it right but don't say it right?"

"…Okay, what?"

He is kidding, right? "It defeats the whole purpose! Honestly, Lestrade, your being stupider than Anderson!" And with that established, I turned and faced the other way, giving him the cold shoulder. He just stood there a moment, and then asked, "So, you remember Anderson?"

"Hard to forget someone so stupid." He just laughed and left. What was so funny? It was true. In a little bit, someone came and stood in the doorway, I turned around and John was there, smiling like he was just told a really funny secret. "I didn't think I'd hear you insult Anderson again. I didn't think I'd hear you insult Greg, either, but I really didn't think Anderson would get insulted by you for a long time."

"Why? He's an idiot, John. It's just a fact."

He smiled even bigger. "So, you're letting yourself remember everything again?"

"Apparently."

He laughed. "It will be good to have you completely back, Sherlock."

I gave him a small smile. "Give me a few hours in the Mind Palace, and I think we'll be all set. Nothing like a big shock to the system to get everything back in place. Although, I don't think Mycroft will go to jail anytime soon for what he did."

"You want to bet? Sherlock, we have your statements when you're in your right head, now. You're not going to have to worry about Mycroft or Moriarty for a while."

"I'll give them a week." And with that, I went into my Mind Palace, finally ready to sort everything out.

_And it's about time, too._

I couldn't agree more with myself.

* * *

**John:**

I watched the entire conversation with Greg and Sherlock from the security cameras. Something in Sherlock's eyes changed as they went through their conversation. By the time it was over, Sherlock was insulting Anderson, which I took as a promising sign he was willing to remember his old life. Greg came to me laughing, and by the way Anderson was scowling in the hallway, I knew he knew what had been said. I went over to the room Sherlock was in, still sulking in perfect Sherlock form. He looked over at me. "I didn't think I'd hear you insult Anderson again. I didn't think I'd hear you insult Greg, either, but I really didn't think Anderson would get insulted by you for a long time."

"Why? He's an idiot, John. It's just a fact."

I smiled even bigger when I thought that Anderson must have heard that since the door was open. "So, you're letting yourself remember everything again?"

"Apparently."

I laughed at that. He was actually coming back! "It will be good to have you completely back, Sherlock."

He smiled, probably because I was actually working with him instead of against him. "Give me a few hours in the Mind Palace, and I think we'll be all set. Nothing like a big shock to the system to get everything back in place. Although, I don't think Mycroft will go to jail anytime soon for what he did."

"You want to bet? Sherlock, we have your statements when you're in your right head, now. You're not going to have to worry about Mycroft or Moriarty for a while."

"I'll give them a week." I just smiled as he put his hands to his lips in that position he gets in when he needs to think. I left and went to get everything set up for Mycroft and Moriarty. A week? Sherlock's setting his expectations a little too high.

* * *

**Sherlock:**

The case was pretty straight forward from there. The hit man was caught as well as my brother and Moriarty, and all three men went to jail. Mycroft paid his way out and Moriarty escaped, of course, but at least it took them 11 days.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, we've got another case." John pulled me out of my memories. "Three bombs go off, all over London at exactly the same time. Are you up for it?"

I smile. "Of course. Just give me a moment." I quickly do something in my Mind Palace, then catch a cab with John to one of the crime scenes. "So, what did you just do back there?"

"I went into my Mind Palace, obviously."

"Yeah, I know that, but what did you do in there?" I gave him a huge grin as the cab pulled up to the scene.

"I left a key under the doormat, just in case." And with that, I stepped out of the cab, John closely following, both of us sharing a barely audible laugh.

_**~End~**_


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